Lamb: A Story of Love, Friendship, and Armageddon
by Love Sonnets
Summary: There's more than one way to jumpstart an Apocalypse. A female hunter becomes a tool for the pro-Apocalypse team, but with the help of Bobby, Cas, and a little demonic assistance the Winchesters could prevent the end of the world-again. S6 SPOILER!


**Author's Note**: I need to warn any readers that it's been _years_ since I've written either a piece of fiction or written for pleasure. Please don't judge me too harshly as I get started in this because it's bound to be a little awkward. I hope the style become smoother as I write. This story is going to be a bit slower in the beginning, but I'll try to keep it moving. I may also be a little slow in throwing out chapters. Sorry!

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The morning sunlight had begun to filter through the gap between the drawn curtains. They were the standard motel variety made out of industrial cloth thick enough to protect the inhabitants inside from nuclear fallout should the need for a makeshift bomb shelter ever arise. The faint trickle of light was enough to illuminate the peaceful face of Beth, who was sleeping soundly beneath the stiff, uncomfortable blankets—another inexplicable staple for every motel. Charlie, the other half of the duo, was awake and sitting on the bed with one leg curled under her bottom and the other draped over the edge of the mattress. She gazed down at the sweet face of her companion and smirked as she mused over Beth's sleeping position.

Beth had two modes of sleeping; the first was the eerie "Disney-princess-perfection style" in which she rested on her side in slight fetal position, and her hands pressed together as if in prayer and tucked gracefully under the cheek that rested against the pillow. The second mode involved kicking, flailing, punching, pushing, and rolling herself into a giant "blanket tortilla". The second mode was never enabled when Beth slept alone, but had an astronomically high chance of activating when the two happened to doze off in the same bed. Yet, in spite of the danger of getting an awful (and sometimes painful) night sleep, Charlie often spent her nights curled up beside her friend. She cut her thought short as she leaned down, wielding an uncapped marker in her left hand, and pressed it against the skin of Beth's arm and began to scribble. Within a few moments she was done and as she capped the marker she proofread the message: 124 Lowood Drive, Clark, South Dakota 57225. That was all the information she'd need if Beth decided to tag along after all.

It wasn't going to be a big thing, Charlotte thought to herself as she twisted her long, black curls into a braid. It was just a preliminary meeting with a client who thought their house was haunted. These things normally panned out to be nothing more than spending a few nights in a client's house and then disappointing the homeowner with the news that there was nothing paranormal going on. The culprit behind doors slamming shut on their own or the creak of a floorboard was usually nothing more than a draft from poorly insulated windows or the settling of an old house. It was easy, harmless work for the most part and Charlotte had no idea why Beth was so on edge these last few weeks.

It was because of Beth's sudden paranoia that they had stopped searching for cases to work on, but now Beth's stubbornness had expanded to turning down ones that were handed to them. Charlotte had begun to worry about the damage Beth's refusal to work with their contacts would have on their reputation. If this kept up Beth would end up forcing their contacts to sever ties and take their cases to other hunters. Having contacts wasn't a common thing for hunters and both Beth and Charlotte knew it. Most of the time a hunter would spend hours or days combing through news clippings looking for something out of the ordinary and then go chasing it down and even then "out of the ordinary" didn't guarantee "supernatural". Sometimes "out of the ordinary" was "weird, but with a monster-free explanation to it"; and even if the case did pan out, they were rarely ever paying gigs.

If she was going to be honest with herself, she was hurt that Beth was holding back on her. She was certain Beth knew _something_—she always did, but she was also always forthcoming with any information she acquired. In over twenty years there had never been secrets, so what was causing that to change? What did Beth know? And how could Beth expect Charlotte to protect her if she was hiding something? Feeling overloaded with the anxiety these questions were forcing on her, she shook it off—literally and metaphorically—with a shudder.

She slid off the bed and snatched her cell phone off the side table before she sauntered out the door of the motel room. A few steps out the door and she was in the parking lot and climbing into the cab of her pickup truck. As she settled into the driver's seat she held down "5" on her cell phone and within a few rings the phone on the other end of the call picked up.

"Good morning, Bobby," she said with a satisfied grin, "you'd better be on the road. You've got two hours to meet me in Clark—no, Elizabeth isn't joining us—I don't know, she's still acting weird—Mm, if I knew why I'd have talked her out of her funk by now—I don't know, she's not telling me anything—Hmph. Look, if it was something to do with her sensing something I know she'd tell me—I _know_ because if she knows something it always involves the two of us. She wouldn't leave me hanging or endanger anyone by not providing important information, regardless of how awful it is—I am _not_ being 'a damned fool' for not following her instinct. Being terrified to leave a motel room is not 'instinct', Bobby! It's insanity! Look, I'll see you in Clark in a few hours. I left Elizabeth the information in case she wants to follow along in the rental car—Mhmm. Yeah, I'll wait for you before I do anything once I get there. See ya."


End file.
